


above my own grave

by TheDragonofHouseMormont



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampire Diaries au, or more specifically a Caroline & Klaus au, probably chronologically confusing I'm sorry, there's a loneliness to Clara's character that I tried to touch on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonofHouseMormont/pseuds/TheDragonofHouseMormont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Missy took away her breath and her plans and all her soft edges and replaced them with fangs and a strength like marble and a thirst that never ends."</p><p>Of birthdays, monsters, moving on, and life after death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	above my own grave

The sun sinks rapidly below the horizon as Clara watches from the window of her classroom.  Somewhere out there the moon shines on, but it’s lost behind the buildings.  It should be a full moon, she thinks, as she steps back and spins on her heel.  Her footsteps are silent on the tiled floor, her movements indiscernible in the darkness of the room.

She can hear people moving about the school.  But it’s nighttime.  She doesn’t know why anyone else is there.  She doesn’t know why she is still there.  The hallway is empty as she passes through it.  She can smell warmth, she can hear their heartbeat, the steady pulse of blood hiding in one of the classrooms.  Her eyes darken, her senses widen, she can feel her fangs drop and—

Sunlight invades her space as she sits up in bed.  She hisses at the offending light that fills her room, thankful for the ring on her hand that she never takes off.  She remembers the burn of the sun.

-

This is who Clara Oswald was.

Twenty-four, fresh out of uni, and a new teacher, Clara had three best friends in the entire world.

Rose Tyler was the loveliest, or at least that's what everyone always said.  She was beautiful, smart, and had the kindest of hearts.

Martha Jones was the smartest.  Top of their class growing up, she came from a large and confrontational family.  Sometimes Clara wondered if Martha studied so much so she could take the occasional breaks from her household.

Amelia Pond was the oddest.  Imagination and a strong personality, as children she often lead them on adventures of her own creation.

And Clara was... well, Clara was head of the student government as a teenager and president of the poetry club in uni.  At night she would go home to her books and her stash of maps, planning the trip she intended to take one day.  Someday.

Things changed during university and remained forever altered.  John Gallifrey came to town and became a part of their lives – especially Rose's.  Rose became more reserved, then Amy became more reserved, and finally Martha joined them in the secrets they were keeping.

There were things Clara Oswald did not know and they were these:

John Gallifrey was a vampire.

Amy Pond discovered her heritage as a witch.

Rose Tyler promised to keep their secrets.

One night, Martha stumbled upon them by accident and swore to keep them as well.

John had numerous enemies and the four of them were involved in plot after plot dealing with them.  Missy was one such enemy.  Master of chaos, she once added her own blood to the champagne at the town's annual Christmas celebration at which Clara was in attendance.

Clara Oswald did not care about the things she did not know.  What she did know was that she had three best friends, was beginning her career as a school teacher, and had her eye on maths teacher Danny Pink.

Until all of that was taken away the night of the Christmas celebration in the form of a woman with a cruel smile waiting for her under a street lamp as she walked home.

But this is not the story of who Clara Oswald used to be.  This is the story of who she is now.

-

“And that’ll be it for today,” Clara announces to her class as the bell rings.  She walks through the shuffle of paper and backpacks and coats as she heads back to her desk.  “Have a good weekend!”

It takes all of thirty seconds for her classroom to be deserted and she sits down with a heavy sigh, forcing herself to shed the stress of the day.  After a moment she gathers the papers on her desk, slides them into a folder, and tucks them into her bag, standing up to turn out the lights and take her leave for two days.

She stands at the door, casting one last glance at the room to make sure nothing is forgotten.  Sure that everything is in order she turns back and

“Happy birthday!”  Rose, Martha, Amy, and John are standing just outside her classroom wearing party hats and smiles.

Rose steps forward and places a plastic tiara on her head.  “There, now you are queen for the evening.”

“Oh,” Clara exclaims, reaching up to touch it.  “Thanks.  I… I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Amy interrupts her verbal fumbling.  “We have a pub to get to.  Martha even brought a cake.”  Martha holds the cake up behind the others as evidence.

-

“This isn’t personal, you know,” the woman says to her, still smiling as she holds Clara’s head between her hands.  Clara struggles and struggles, her hands around the woman’s, but she can’t manage to pry away her fingers even a little.  “I hardly even know you.  But I’ve seen you around.  I’ve seen the way you are.  And let’s just say you’d make a great… gift.”

And then Missy took away her breath and her plans and all her soft edges and replaced them with fangs and a strength like marble and a thirst that never ends with a sickening crunch that Clara can’t shake from her nightmares.

-

She’s two hours and three beers into her birthday party and she’s tempted to drink a lot more.  It can’t hurt her like it used to.  It may be her birthday, but she’s here for her friends.

John has been watching her with a concerned look all evening, but it’s Martha who finally says something.  “You aren’t having any fun.  What’s up?”

Clara swallows, taking a moment to think before trying to answer her friend.  “I just.  I don’t know why I’m doing this.  Celebrating.  I’m not a year older.  I’ll never be a year older.”

“But time is still passing,” Amy tries to reason.  “You’re still here.  It’s still your birthday.”

“Yeah, but I’m.  I’m.”

“Dead.”  Rose finishes the sentence for her.  She inches closer, a smile taking form on her face, lighting up with a thought behind it.  “You’re right.  This party,” she waves at the table and the half eaten cake between them.  “This isn’t what you need.”

-

No one found her by morning.  She tries not to think about that.

She wakes up in the shade of a tree, the sunlight seeming brighter than it ever had.  She hops to her feet, memories of the night before flooding back.  But she’s fine.  She’s alive and she’s fine and those memories can’t be anything more than a bad dream.

But she tries to leave the shade and there is burning and screaming that she realizes a second later must be her own.  She’s back in the shade, against the tree faster than she could have thought possible.  A burning smell surrounds her as she reaches up and touches her own fraying skin, feeling it stitch itself back together underneath her fingertips.

She can’t leave the safety of the shade and her eyes watch the sunline anxiously, knowing the light will move with the day.  Her purse has been tossed on the ground next to the tree and she reaches for it, pulling out her phone and tapping on the first name in her contacts – Amy.  She quickly tries to explain to her friend the bizarre things that are happening and hears the panic in the other girl’s voice.  _Just wait,_ she’s told.  _We’ll be there as soon as we can._

But no one had even come looking for her before she had to call for help.  She tries to ignore what that means.

-

Rose leads them from the tube station and down dark roads and sleeping houses.  She hasn’t told any of them where she plans on going.

It doesn’t even occur to Clara where they might be headed until they’re standing in front of the huge iron gate.  John steps to the front, grabbing the lock, yanking it off, and pulling the chain free.  He steps aside, “Birthday girl gets to go first.”

Clara nods, taking a deep breath that she doesn’t need, and walks through the gate.  Gravestones cover the ground on either side of her, stretching far into the darkness.  There isn’t one here for her.  She wonders what it would look like if there was.

“You were right, Clara,” Rose says.  “You don’t need a birthday right now.  You need a funeral.  So this is officially your wake.”  She reaches down and picks a small flower growing in the grass.  “For my friend who was smart and funny and taken long before her time.”

Martha nods, following Rose’s lead.  “She was a great friend.  Always there for me, whenever I needed her, no matter the time of day or night.”

“She was brave and adventurous,” Amy chimes in.  “Always taking on every day with spirit and determination.  She was beautiful and kind and she shouldn’t have died.”  Amy steps closer, resting one hand on Clara’s cheek.  “But she did and now she is something else.  Now she needs to let that dead girl go so she can move on.”  Amy smiles at her, but there is something sad in it – like she understands something that Clara doesn’t get just yet.

-

“You have to control it,” John scolds her only twenty-four hours after her own murder.  “If you want to be sure you won’t hurt anyone you care about, you have to keep the urge buried deep.”

Clara cuts off her own breathing, trying not to inhale any more air.  It smells too good.  But the lack of oxygen burns her lungs, even though she doesn’t need it.  She’s too human, she’s too something else.

“I have it,” Amy yells as she bursts into the room.  John stands up quickly, holding up a hand to tell Amy to stop.

Clara looks up at her friend who is life and blood, and swallows, forcing the urge down.  She feels the veins below her eyes sink back into her skin, and John lowers his hand.

“I have it,” Amy repeats, holding something out to her.  “Your sunlight ring.  I’ve never made one before so you’ll have to test it to be sure, but I think I got the spell right.”

“Thank you.”  Clara croaks out the words, taking the offered jewelry.  She slides it onto her right hand.  “It’s beautiful.”

Amy smiles, hopeful, before nodding and leaving the room once more.

“Clara,” John says softly.  “I know this is a lot for you to take in; it’s only been a day.  But is there something else that’s bothering you?  Something you haven’t mentioned?”

 _You’d make a great gift._   Clara shakes her head, “No.  It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

-

She went home after her funeral-party, promising to meet up with everyone at lunch the next day.  But after sitting alone in her bedroom, staring up at the full moon, she still doesn’t feel tired.  She thinks she hears a howl outside, but there are no wolves on this island anymore.

A walk, she decides.  A walk will do her good.  Her feet carry her from her flat, down the stairs, and out the door.  She wants to be around trees, but there isn’t much nature where she lives, so she runs.  She runs as fast as she can, flashing by late buses and drunk friends stumbling home in the early hours.  She runs out of the city and doesn’t stop until she hits the first patch of woods.

It’s just as silent as her home, but she feels like she can breathe just a little better.  She’s hungry, hasn’t fed in days, and she’s thankful there doesn’t seem to be another human around.  All the heartbeats she hears are the fast speed of small animals.  She closes her eyes, focusing on the patter of a single heartbeat, narrowing down its location to a little bit ahead of her.  She steps forward slowly, quietly, like the opposite of space taken, a nothingness stalking through the trees.

Until she hears it.  A nothing like her.  But where her heart beats nearly as fast as a human’s, this heart is slow.  Too slow to be anything living.  So slow she almost missed it.  The quiet yet consistent beats.  Her movements stop, her body freezing up in fear of what danger she may have brought upon herself.

“You don’t have to be scared,” a voice she doesn’t recognize tells her.

“Are you going to kill me?”  She hates the terror her voice betrays.

“On your birthday?”

At that Clara finally manages to turn around and face the stranger.  He’s standing a few feet away – tall, graying hair, and a body that is too still, a chest that doesn’t rise with breath.  “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

“Someone told me,” he answers.  “Someone I don’t trust, but it seems she wasn’t lying about this at least.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to meet you.  My _gift,”_ the word is coated in disgust and she can see the anger on his face in the moonlight.

“So you’re the reason I’m dead,” she snarls.

“Do you want me to apologize?”  He seems genuinely curious as he steps closer to her.  She tries to back away, but a tree blocks her path.  “I’ll say I’m sorry if that’s what you want, but if Missy was right about you, then I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Clara laughs, her heart not in it.  “So I was killed because of you, but you won’t even give me an apology unless I ask for it?”

“Birthdays are so much fun.”  He ignores her angry remark.  “They’re a reminder of how much we’ve been through, how much we’ve survived.  You have to stop thinking like a human, Clara.  You are no longer bound by time and normal, human conventions.  You’re free.”

“I’m dead.”

He steps a little closer.  “Do you despise your existence that much?”

“I’m a monster.”  She keeps her gaze on the ground, tracing the outline of leaves in the dark.

“No,” he says simply and her eyes flick up to his.  “You are ageless and powerful.  There is a whole world out there full of culture and beauty.  You can see it all, experience history as it happens.  You can have a thousand more birthdays.  You just have to choose it.”

She can’t take her eyes away from his, even as she thinks on it.  She thinks of the way blood feels – warm in her mouth, dripping down her chin.  How much she enjoys it.  _Monster,_ a voice says inside her.  She looks at the man in front of her, this being that she can tell from his slow heart is impossibly old.  He isn’t like John, isn’t like what John tried to teach her.  _Restraint, control, be good._ “I don’t want to be a monster.”

“You are not a monster,” he tells her again.  “It’s not a crime to love what you are, even if it doesn’t fit what you were raised to be.”  His hand raises up like he’s reaching for her hair, until he realizes the way his own limb has betrayed him and snatches it back down, stepping away from her.  He turns to walk away.

“You’re leaving?” she asks, confused.

He looks back at her.  “Happy birthday, Clara.”  He starts walking, but without looking back again, he says.  “You could come with me.”

Clara doesn’t move, just watches him depart.  “My job, my friends, I can’t leave them.”

His feet don’t stop.  “It won’t be enough for you, the day-to-day human life, going to work and the shops.  Even your friends, they can’t understand.  They don’t have an eternity in front of them.”

Clara remembers the way Amy looked at her earlier, at her own funeral, and finally she understands.  She runs to catch up to him, falling into step.  “Where are we going?”

He smiles down at her, genuine.  “Wherever you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Breath by Sóley.


End file.
